


Forging Alliances

by orphan_account



Series: Swooning Over You [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Claude is bad at flirting, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 01:15:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21128372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Claude meets Hilda and discovers that forging a bond with House Goneril will be far more exciting than he ever imagined.





	Forging Alliances

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to ThereWasOnlyOneBed who beta-ed this story and offered helpful edits along the way. Any typos are wholly my fault.
> 
> The inspiration for this story came from twitter user HectorEmblem with this piece: [ Here. ](https://twitter.com/HectorEmblem/status/1173172248796000256?s=20)
> 
> This is the first in a series of fics I'm working on which focus on Claude swooning over Hilda at various points in their relationship.

Claude’s been at the monastery with the other houses leaders for a few weeks now. Today is the first time that other students will be arriving. He waits in the Golden Deer common room, where each student has been instructed to check-in after moving their belongings into the dormitories. 

More than all the rest, Claude is eager to meet the youngest child and only daughter of House Goneril--the house charged with manning Fódlan’s Locket. An alliance with them is necessary for Claude’s ambitions to come to fruition and Claude considers a friendship with the Goneril girl his best chance for that alliance. 

After a bit of waiting, students begin to file in. He meets Raphael, the large, rambunctious boy who immediately asks Claude for directions to the dining hall. He meets Marianne von Edmund who, no matter how hard Claude tries to guide the conversation, can barely string together more than five words at a time. He also, unfortunately, meets Lorenz.

Lorenz is the eldest son and heir to the county of Gloucester, facts he is quick to let Claude know before launching into a monologue about the “Noble’s Burden.” Claude spends most of the time while Lorenz is talking debating an appropriately strong word to describe how bad his haircut is. The arrival of Ignatz and Leonie offer Claude a merciful way out of listening to Lorenz and he quickly excuses himself to meet the other students.

A little while longer and Claude has met nearly every student enrolled in the Golden Deer house. He continues to chat with them for a few hours and yet, the girl from House Goneril remains conspicuously absent. Claude waits until every student clears out, the time now early evening, and then waits an additional thirty minutes in hopes of seeing the girl he’s been waiting all day to meet.

With a sigh, Claude decides that he cannot wait any longer. Seeking to decompress before joining his fellow students in the dining hall, he exits the common room and makes his way through the open air courtyard towards the monastery garden. His stomach protests loudly as he passes by the dining hall, but Claude needs a moment to catch his breath. A day of fake smiles and artificial airs is draining and the garden promises a quiet space to just be for a few moments.

The dormitories and the pond Claude passes are empty allowing him to quietly slip through the open doors and into the garden, which now sits empty--the monastery staff in charge of maintaining the garden having left hours ago.

Claude takes a seat in front of a particularly pretty purple anemone flower. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, slowly letting his mind wander into a state of quiet contemplation. 

Before a minute passes, Claude’s meditative peace is disrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps outside the garden. Claude opens his eyes and turns towards the doors. Five of the burliest male students he’s seen today walk quickly past the garden. Each of them are carrying various pieces of furniture, decorations, and the one in the back carries several pieces of luggage. Each of the suitcases are marked with the sigil of House Goneril. The five boys briskly move past the garden and up the stairs to the dormitories.

Claude waits and, sure enough, a minute after the last boy has gone up the stairs Claude sees the girl he’s been dying to meet walk slowly past the garden doors. She stops at the bottom of the dormitory stairs, allowing Claude his first good look at her. 

Even from a distance Claude can tell she’s tiny and for some reason this surprises him. Her vibrant pink hair, tied into long pigtails, looks remarkably well cared for. His eyes wander lower, taking in her outfit, a black dress that falls to mid-thigh and rests over a high collared white shirt that ties into a bow at the top--a standard uniform for the monastery but somehow she seems to wear it better. His eyes drift lower still, lingering on the bit of the skin peeking out between the bottom of the dress and the top of her stockings. After a moment, Claude realizes how creepy he’s being and forces his eyes back to her face. 

He notes with a soft chuckle that unlike the men who went before her, her arms are entirely empty. Claude watchers her wait a moment at the bottom of the stairs before proceeding up them with an air of deliberate laziness.

As she disappears into the second floor dormitory, Claude closes his eyes once more and debates his next move. His stomach growls loudly reminding him that it’s been hours since he last ate. Something Claude isn’t willing to name compels him to wait in the garden even as his stomach protests.

About twenty minutes later the five burly students come down the steps, empty handed and with star struck expressions. At the bottom of the steps, they turn and head off towards the dining hall. This time, the pretty, pink-haired girl does not follow after them. 

In a flash, Claude is on his feet and making his way out of the garden and up the stone staircase. _I’m not just doing this because she’s pretty._ Claude repeats to himself as he quickly ascends the final steps and turns down the hall with the student dorms. __

_ __ _

He’s delighted to discover that she has been assigned the room next to his. He stands in front of her door and, with a deep breath, runs his hand down the front of his shirt, attempting to smooth any lingering wrinkles from the long day. He then runs the same hand quickly through his hair, ruffling it around to give off a casual, messy look. 

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He recalls the most important piece of advice given to him before being introduced to the noble houses of the Leicester Alliance: _Be charming. Be funny. Most importantly, just don’t be yourself._

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He takes one final breath, assumes a smirk, and knocks three times on her door. Several seconds pass and he hears no response. He tries knocking again, this time calling out, “Hey, it’s Claude. I’m supposed to check in with everyone in my house.”

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“Oh, Claude!” he hears through the door, “Come on in!”

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Claude gently pushes open the door and as he does a light, fruity perfume smell washes over him. He quickly glances around the room, taking note of how much stuff she has managed to squeeze in it. A desk similar to the one Claude has in his room sits near the entryway. The top of the desk is covered with bits and pieces of stones, beads, metals, and gems. Next to the desk is a floor-length mirror. Kitty corner from the desk sits Hilda’s bed, flanked on each side by night stands. On one night stand, sits a small, ceramic pipe. Claude can’t see what’s in the pipe, but the small tin lying besides the pipe and the overwhelming perfume smell gives him a pretty good idea. He wonders if that’s why she hasn’t left her room yet.

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“Hi, Claude! I’m Hilda.” she calls from the corner opposite her bed.

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“Hi, Hil--” Claude starts as he turns from the bed to look at her.

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She is standing in front of a dresser above which sits a mirror that she (or, more likely, the men who helped her move in) hung. Up close, her pink hair is even more vibrant and alluring. Instead of the pigtails she wore earlier, it now hangs loose, cascading over her shoulders and reaching below the small of her back. The setting sun casts a small beam of light through the window at the back of her room and casts her face in an angelic glow. Claude catches her reflection in the mirror and delights in the ways her eyes match her hair’s vibrant pink. 

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As Claude stares, she continues to brush the ends of her hair without turning away from the mirror. He finds the small movements of her brushing her hair to be hypnotic. Each movement of the brush seems equally deliberate and graceful. He wonders what it might feel like to run his hands through her hair and a light blush settles on his face as his brain quickly offers some possible scenarios for doing just that.

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Lost in thought, Claude forgets his greeting, he forgets his own advice, and he forgets why he came to Hilda’s room in the first place.

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“Hilda.” she remarks, breaking up his lustful reverie.

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“Huh?” 

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“You seemed like you were having trouble remembering my name. It’s Hilda.” she giggles.

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“R-right. Yes. Hi. Hello. I’m Claude. von Riegan. Claude von Riegan.” he splutters.  
Hilda giggles again and Claude swears he’s losing his mind. _Be charming,_ the voice at the back of his mind scolds him.

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“So you said,” she says as she finishes brushing the last bit of her hair and sets the brush down on the dresser before turning to look at Claude, “Hi, Claude von Riegan. I’m Hilda. So, what inspired our esteemed house leader to pay little ol’ me a visit?”

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Claude freezes, unsure how to respond and cursing his charm and charisma for failing him when it matters most.

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After a few noticeably silent seconds, Claude says “Umm, just wanted to make sure you were settling in alright.” Then, recovering quickly he adds, “We missed the chance of meeting earlier in the day, and I couldn’t bear the thought of you struggling with moving in alone.”

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If Hilda feels awkward or embarrassed by Claude’s pathetic attempts at flirting, she doesnt show it. Instead, she gives him a big smile and moves to stand a couple feet in front of him, “Awwww, you’re too sweet.”

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“Looks like I didn’t need to worry,” Claude adds with a smirk, nodding towards the various pieces of furniture littering her room.

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“Oh, yeah. Some very nice boys thought it didn’t seem right to make me carry all this heavy furniture up so many steps,” she says, before adding with a shrug, “and who am I to argue with such nice boys.” 

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As she says this, Claude swears he sees a glint in Hilda’s eyes but his gaze is distracted as she takes a small bit of her hair between her thumb and forefinger of her left hand; gently running her fingers over the ends again and again.

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“How generous of them.” Claude forces his gaze back to her face. “So, need anything else?”

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“I can think of a lot of things I might need from the future leader of the Alliance!” Hilda laughs before adding, “For now, how about you walk me to the dining hall? I’m starving.” 

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“It would be my pleasure, my Lady.” Claude responds with a wink as he sticks his elbow out offering it to her with a nod. 

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“What a gentleman.” She says as she interlocks her arm with his, “Lead the way, Claude von Riegan.”

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As they walk to the dining hall, Claude regales her with gossip about the other Golden Deer students, taking time to offer Hilda his best impression of Lorenz. The impression earns him a full-throated laugh from Hilda which make him feel unreasonably warm and happy. 

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When they arrive at the dining hall, Claude disentangles their arms with a small pang of regret.

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“Thank you for the lovely walk, Claude. I hope we’ll do it again soon.” Hilda winks and heads off towards a table full of students.

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Claude watches her walk off, two boys jumping up from the table to offer their seats before she’s even ten feet away. He smiles to himself: strengthening the Goneril-Riegan alliance promises to be far more exciting than he ever imagined.

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**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me about Fire Emblem on twitter at @ajstyyling


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